Upon the One I So Adore
by fabala-fae
Summary: Unable to conceal his love for much longer, Luka gathers his nerve and confesses his true feelings for Abby. Kinda twisted.


Title: Upon the One I So Adore  
  
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, but if everyone in the world stuck to using their own stuff, kleptomania as we know it would dissolve completely. And then what would the kleptomaniacs do? Have some pity for them. They're people too.  
  
Rating: Um, R.  
  
Notes: Very minor spoilers. It gets a little weird. ;)  
  
Summary: Unable to love her in secret for any longer, Luka reveals his true feelings for Abby.  
  
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Luka gently traced an invisible line down the side of Abby's face; a soft pattern along the shadow of her cheekbone, mapping every inch of her skin, barely touching her chin, her jawline, stroking her cheek as if wiping away an non-existent tear from her closed eyes. One touch of her, one glimpse of her peaceful face, and he knew why he'd come here tonight.  
  
God, she was beautiful.  
  
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He knocked on her door for what seemed like eternity, staring at the dark peep-hole until it lit up from inside. It darkened again quickly after, and Luka knew she was checking the identity of whoever the hell was at her door this late at night. An exasperated sigh - including the garbled use of both a few select curse words and "Luka" - on the other side of the door made him smile slightly. She was almost violent about her sleep.  
  
But it had to be said, and it had to be said now. He'd waited long enough and they'd wasted enough time already. True, the middle of the night wasn't always the best time for this type of thing, but he couldn't sleep with the words on his lips for another night . . .  
  
He listened as the padlock clicked and the doorchain jangled - and he had only a second to wipe the fond smile from his face as Abby opened up the door and squinted up at him. "Luka, goddammit," she grumbled, her voice clogged with sleep. "I was about to call the fucking cops."  
  
She certainly hadn't lost her sleep-deprived obscenities. Luka smiled shyly and held up his hands in surrender. "No need, I'm not here to cause any trouble." Not the kind that involved the police, anyway.  
  
Abby wasn't amused. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I . . ." Good question. Even though he knew exactly why he was there, even though he'd recited the words in his mind for weeks now, he didn't seem to know the answer. "Is Carter here?"  
  
"Uh, no, he's on all night," Abby replied, rubbing her eyes messily with the back of her hand. "Go to County if you want to talk to him."  
  
Luka chuckled as if she were joking - which she must have been. "No, I'm not looking for Carter," he assured her, and allowed his gaze to peel from the wearing carpet in her doorway to the sleep-worn features of her face. "I came to see you."  
  
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Luka turned over slightly on the other side of the bed, never taking his eyes from her face. For what seemed like the hundredth time that night he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, grateful for the chance to touch her again. Hell, he was grateful even to be in the same room as her anymore, and as he laid in her bed for the first time since eternity, simply gazing at her with intense love, he had to touch her face again.  
  
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She looked up at him, one eye squinted from the bright light of the hallway and the apartment behind her. A few seconds passed before she warily suggested "Here, come in before my neighbor wakes up." Abby held the door open wider, and Luka shyly ducked his head to avoid her confused expression as he entered the apartment.  
  
"I like what you've done . . . with the kitchen," he suggested vaguely. "It looks nice."  
  
"Yeah, I cleaned it," Abby retorted as she locked the door behind her. "Did you come here to talk about my kitchen?"  
  
A warm chill flooded through Luka as he turned around to face her from across the living room. "No," he answered softly. "I didn't."  
  
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"I used to think that love could only come to a man once in his life," Luka whispered, inching closer on the pillow and watching his breath flicker along her eyelashes. For some reason he could never find the right words when she was awake, but when they were like this, side by side, closer than ever with a few inches between them, he knew exactly what he wanted to say. "I was wrong, Abby . . ."  
  
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"Are you happy, Abby?"  
  
Abby glanced at him in surprise before sinking onto the couch. "Happy?" she questioned. "You woke me up in the middle of the night and I work at 10 tomorrow. Happy's not the word that comes to mind."  
  
Luka shook his head. He leaned against the wall awkwardly, a stranger in the home to which he'd once had a key. He tried to not watch her with such adoration as she yawned widely and curled her legs onto the couch, but the mere sound of her breath was enough to make his heart throb. "Well, outside of that," he corrected. "Are you happy . . . with Carter?"  
  
That one caught her attention. Slowly she looked up at him, an eyebrow raised suspiciously. "Are you drunk?"  
  
"No," he assured her with a quick shake of his head. "I have to be drunk to be concerned about you?"  
  
Abby shrugged. "At 3 am," she informed him, "*anyone* has to be drunk to be concerned about me."  
  
He chuckled lightly. "I care about you, Abby," he mused. "No matter how much you don't want me to . . . I care about you."  
  
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Luka had never noticed how flawlessly the line of her chin flowed into her feminine jawline. Nicole had appeared feminine, more so than Abby, but there really was no competition there. Abby was a much more delicate creature than she allowed anyone to think. "Does he tell you how beautiful you are?" Luka asked softly. "Does he know that no matter how hard he fights . . . you'll never be his?"  
  
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Abby looked at him oddly. "I care about you too, Luka," she repeated, shaking her head in bewilderment. "Uh . . . want me to call you a cab? You shouldn't be driving like this."  
  
"Abby, I'm not drunk," Luka sighed, and tentatively stepped closer to her. Lord, even the faint breeze of her scent made him weak. "I want to tell you something . . . I've been trying to tell you something for a long time."  
  
"You do know it's 3 am, right?" she questioned.  
  
Luka rolled his eyes and sat on the coffee table, across from her. "You never answered my question," he reminded her softly, raising his instinctively lowered eyes to gaze into hers. "Are you happy?"  
  
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"You taught me that we can't take love for granted, or life for granted," Luka whispered with a tiny smile, his finger tracing up and down her cheek in a distracted rhythm. "I never want to take anything for granted again, Abby . . . he could never love you the way I always will."  
  
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Abby simply stared at him. "I don't know what you're trying to tell me, Luka," she finally stated.  
  
Luka's nervous frown dissolved as he turned to look at her, to gaze at her, to feast his eyes on the face he'd never known how to appreciate.  
  
Until he clasped his hands in hers, and leaned forward before the earth could stop moving underneath him.  
  
The kiss was soft. Had Luka himself not initiated it, he would have suspected it was a figment of his dreams once again. His lips barely touched hers and Luka closed his eyes, content with this moment . . .  
  
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"I love your lips," Luka whispered softly, his finger drifting to her gently parted mouth. "I never kissed you enough, did I?"  
  
He touched her bottom lip once more; then, in a suddenly awkward movement, he withdrew his hand and clenched it into a painful fist at his side. Every second was new now, every minute counted, and every touch was suddenly not his own . . .  
  
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. . . and yet the perfect moment was cut short when Luka realized Abby had pulled away right after the kiss had begun. "Uh, Luka . . ." she began nervously, standing up from the couch.  
  
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply. "Abby, just listen to me," he pleaded, watching as she quickly stepped across the living room.  
  
"Is that why you asked me if Carter was here?" Abby demanded after a moment, placing her hands on her hips in frustration. "And if I was happy?!"  
  
Luka sighed mournfully and stood up to approach her. "Abby," he sighed. "Please . . ."  
  
"I'm happy, Luka," she snapped, becoming increasingly flustered. "Is that what you want me to tell you? Do you want me to say that I've moved on?"  
  
Her words stung him worse than he would have expected. "If I believed you," he murmured, "then that's what I'd want you to say."  
  
"I'm not lying, Luka," she informed him sharply. "I'm not some French waitress you can whisk away to your apartment and your goddamn fishtank, you know."  
  
"Abby." He stood directly in front of her, and his smile was curved into a half-hearted grin. "I love you."  
  
She stared at him for a full ten seconds before slapping him across the face.  
  
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"It's funny," Luka murmured, turning onto his back and staring at the ceiling above them. "I didn't think you'd react that way . . . I thought you'd be happy to know how I felt . . ."  
  
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"What the *hell* was that?" Abby snapped.  
  
Bewildered, Luka blinked once - and touched his stinging cheek. "Jesus, Abby," he muttered.  
  
"You come over here at 3 in the fucking morning," Abby ranted, "to . . . to what? Try to seduce me or something? Get a quickie in before my boyfriend gets home?"  
  
Hearing her mention Carter as her boyfriend made Luka close his eyes with a sudden weariness. "I had to tell you, Abby - I wouldn't have said anything if I didn't think you felt the same way."  
  
At his words, Abby slowly stepped closer to him, and shook her head. "I don't love you, Luka," she informed him. "I love Carter. I loved him when I was with you, and he loves me too. You don't fit into my life anymore." The look in her eyes was bland, demanding - and angry. "Just . . . please leave."  
  
And suddenly Luka felt his heart swell like never before - a lust, a longing like never before, a love only matched by his first night with Danijela. The memory of Abby's lips was only seconds away by now, but it faded with every passing moment, and he had to kiss her again. Yet his sudden urge was accompanied by a certain hate - he loathed her. Not just for refusing him now, or for manipulating him into breaking up with a year ago. No, he hated her with every fiber of his being. She had the ability to get under his skin in all the best and worst ways - he hated her and he loved her.  
  
He heard a faint scream in the distance but found himself too absorbed in his own thoughts to listen to the problems of Abby's neighbors. She could handle them, she'd obviously thought she could before . . . and if by any chance she couldn't, he would be there to help her back up from wherever she'd been shoved. He'd hunted down that son of a bitch who'd hurt her the first time, and the bastard had left Abby alone after that. But had she ever thanked him? Did she ever once express her appreciation for his help - or for taking her in afterwards, protecting her against Brian and any other cruelty the world decided to throw at her? It was the second time he'd saved her life, goddammit, the second time he'd snarled at another man and held up his fists for the love of Abby Lockhart. He didn't need her to say the words to him, and he didn't need her to sleep with him out of gratitude - he'd tossed that particular argument around in his head a few too many times already.  
  
And now she was with *Carter* of all people, a fucking blue-blooded spoiled brat who could cry to Mommy about whatever he needed. This was a man who was so deep in his own pool of self pity that he could become a common junkie, worse than the addicts seeking Demerol or whatever Luka happened to be administering at the time - this was the man Abby had chosen. Carter had done nothing for her and would continued to do nothing for her.  
  
Luka was aware that he had been silent for several seconds now. He was alarmed to find Abby crumpled at his feet.  
  
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"I heard screams," Luka whispered, his voice becoming choked as he touched her face with something like desperation. "I thought your neighbors were fighting . . . I wanted to go out and help . . . it didn't even sound like you, Abby, or I would have listened closer . . ."  
  
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Luka, suddenly stricken with terror, crouched down to check her pulse - and even if there had been a pulse to check, his fingers were trembling too violently to be able to feel it. What the hell had happened to her?? Had she fainted or something? Collapsed?  
  
Gently, delicately, Luka turned her over . . . and instantly moaned when he saw the bruises around her neck. Oh, God.  
  
Oh, *God.*  
  
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"You didn't even say my name," Luka whispered, swallowing a sob. "One second we're talking, and then I kissed you - the next second you slapped me - I don't remember anything after that . . . how long was it?" He was silent for a moment, as if waiting for her to answer. "It wasn't long enough for me to hurt you, was it?"  
  
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Luka only glanced towards the phone once with a vague inspiration to call 911. He opened his mouth to scream for help as he enveloped Abby in his arms, but a terrifying wave of déjà vu tore through his body and nearly paralyzed him.  
  
No one would come. They hadn't come last time, they wouldn't come this time. And there wasn't even a war going on outside.  
  
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"You have to know, Abby," Luka whispered, caressing her cheek once more. "I would never hurt you."  
  
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Like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold, Luka brought Abby's limp body into the bedroom and gently set her down on the bed. Up till then he was sure he'd been perfectly calm, but a new breath revealed how heavy and wracking his sobs had become. When she was settled on the bed, her brown hair flowing along the pillow like spilt blood on a white cloud, Luka could only pause and stare down at her. He covered his mouth with his hand  
  
(blood, his hands should be covered in blood)  
  
and managed complete, reverent silence in her presence. He'd spent so many nights here, in this room  
  
(another man now, touching her, kissing her, his head on that pillow)  
  
by her side, never knowing what kind of a woman he'd been taking for granted - what kind of a woman he'd ignored when making love, his thoughts always preoccupied with his day, her face clouded by his past  
  
(her lips were full, waiting for a kiss) and now Carter would be home any second. The ache of the morning seeped through the flimsy blinds and promised that Carter would be here any second, stepping quietly through the living room as to not wake her  
  
(but her lips were cold, parted) Yet she would hear him anyway, and sit up in bed, and smile deviously as he tiptoed though the door, and chuckle "You're late. . ."  
  
(with one last thing to say)  
  
". . . you'd better make it up to me."  
  
(I love you.)  
  
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"You have to understand that . . ."  
  
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And he'd smile and coyly lean against the doorframe. "Is that so?"  
  
She would grin and tilt her head innocently. "You just going to stand there, or do I have to get out of bed?"  
  
He would shake his head amusedly. "Don't you dare," he'd tease with a seductive step forward, slyly taking off his jacket.  
  
She'd wrinkle her nose and swing her legs to the side of the bed. "You'd better hurry," she would tease, dangling her feet over the ground. "I'm bored and I need something to do . . ."  
  
Carter's grin would widen mischievously. "I'll give you something to do," he would offer as he'd approach the bed, watching the early sunlight glisten in her eager eyes.  
  
Yet now as Luka slid into bed beside her, her eyes didn't glisten. They were closed. Her cheek was cold. And he found himself desperately, desperately wishing that one morning last year he would have come home to see the morning sunlight dancing in her eyes.  
  
He wished he would have known to look for it.  
  
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Luka cringed as he touched the ugly bruises on Abby's neck. If she wore a high collar, maybe no one would see . . .  
  
If they dressed her in a high collar, if they positioned her right in the coffin, maybe no one would see . . .  
  
Carter would probably pay for a lavish funeral. He'd be fashionably mournful, of course, maybe even cry if it would impress his family. He'd be over it in a matter of weeks, fucking some new woman his parents had set him up with, forgetting Abby forever.  
  
And somehow, as Luka gingerly sat up and tore his eyes away from Abby's still, cold, lifeless figure, he knew that wasn't true. Not just because any man who'd ever known her had no choice but to be completely entranced, but because he knew what Abby had said was true. Carter loved her. She loved him - she had loved him. She'd never loved Luka.  
  
But now Carter wouldn't get anything that Luka couldn't have. Abby was gone, as was her love, misdirected as it was, venomous as it was, and now Carter would know loss. True loss. Luka had known nothing but loss, and now it was Carter's turn to weep over Abby.  
  
And Luka couldn't say he was sorry.  
  
Abby was gone, one way or another. As petty as it was, Luka couldn't feel guilty about Carter's loss. Luka had lost her long ago.  
  
And as he slowly left her apartment building, he passed Carter on the street, though the other man didn't seem to notice. He had no idea what was waiting for him - or rather, not waiting for him.  
  
He would know how it felt.  
  
And for the first time, the love in Luka's heart, the love and the hate and the mourning and the wishing and the painful, painful jealousy, lifted a little.  
  
It felt kind of nice.  
  
After all, it was okay if he was just protecting her again, right?  
  
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"Take my heart, take my eyes  
  
I need them no more  
  
If never again they fall  
  
Upon the One I So Adore..."  
  
~"Grace is Gone"- Dave Matthews Band  
  
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